"Where is he? Where's Tony? It's after eleven--half past--Why isn't he here?"

Mr. Torrington rose and offered a chair, which she refused with a gesture.

"We are waiting, my dear."

"But why isn't he here?" she repeated.

"How can we possibly say?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Ca.s.sis testily. "In a venture of this kind----"

She caught up the word "venture" and threw it back at him.

"No message, nothing."

Cranbourne was about to answer, but Torrington interrupted him to tell her of the dog rose Lord Almont had received.

"That was from him--that was from Tony," she cried. "I gave him a spray of them on the night he started."

"That's encouraging," said Lord Almont.

But Ca.s.sis was not in a mood to be encouraged.

"It may mean much or little," he snorted. "Still, there is nothing to prevent our hoping."

Of all worldly trials, waiting is the severest, and tatters the nerves quicker than any other. Isabel Irish did not like Nugent Ca.s.sis--he belonged to the money people who had no real existence in her reckoning--but ordinarily speaking she would never have lashed out at him with such vehemence. The fire in her voice and eyes entirely robbed the little man of power to retort. Nor was the tirade she uttered levelled at him alone, everyone present came in for a share.

One small girl with a shock of curly hair whipping with scorpions the heads of a mighty financial concern.

"Hoping he'll get through with the cash," she said, "so that you can have money and more money and then more money. That's all he counts for to you--a machine to fill your pockets---- Doesn't matter if he gets broken throwing out the coins, wouldn't matter if he never came back at all so long as the concession came safely to hand. Oh! it makes me sick--it makes me sick." Her voice broke, but she forced the tears back by sheer strength of will. "He may be dead--anything may have happened to him---- And you could have prevented it all, sent an army to protect him. But no, that wouldn't do--too conspicuous--other people might find out--profits might have to be divided--so all you can do is to sit in a circle waiting--waiting--like a dog with a biscuit on its nose for the words 'Paid for, paid for.'"

And having emptied out her soul's measure of resentment she threw herself onto the sofa and sobbed and sobbed with her curly head in Mr.

Torrington's lap.

No one spoke, not even when Doran came in and whispered that Van Diest and Hipps had arrived and demanded audience. It was Cranbourne who came forward and picking her up in his arms like an injured child carried her into the other room and laid her on Barraclough's bed.

"We haven't lost yet, my dear," he said, and stroked her forehead.

He left her crying gently on the pillow, her little pink cheeks all shiny with tears.

Mr. Torrington waited for Cranbourne to return before giving Doran instructions to show in the gentlemen. To Ca.s.sis' unspoken protest he replied:

"They evidently have some information which we lack. It would be wise to find out what it is."

Ezra P. Hipps was first to enter. He came in like a triumphant army occupying captured territory. Close upon his heels was Hugo Van Diest, smiling ingratiatingly and bowing to the company. Hilbert Torrington rose and returned the courtesy.

"An unexpected pleasure, gentlemen. And what precisely do you want?"

"I guess it's a talk to the man who shoots the bull in the ring," Hipps replied, and added: "That subst.i.tute trick has exploded and the chap who pulled it has done a guy."

Mr. Torrington and Cranbourne exchanged glances.

"Am I to understand that Mr. Frencham Altar has found your hospitality too oppressive?" he asked.

"Put it how you like, but that's a side show," came the answer. "We're here on business."

Nugent Ca.s.sis had recovered some of his self-possession and remarked crisply:

"We are very busy, Mr. Hipps."

"And since the light came into the temple, Nugent Ca.s.sis, we've been busy ourselves. Struck me one or two little matters need adjusting."

"Your treatment of the subst.i.tute for example," said Cranbourne.

"Not unlikely, but that job'll keep, and it's in hand already under Laurence."

"Dear me, we are being very frank, are we not?" murmured Mr. Torrington.

"Gentlemen, it's come to our ears that a certain Mr. Barraclough is taking grave risks tonight to get home."

Cranbourne flashed an eye at the bedroom door. "Go on!" he said.

"Talk straight, man."

Hilbert Torrington held up a hand.

"One minute," he suggested. "I imagine Mr. Hipps is reluctant to speak out before so many witnesses. It would be better perhaps if Mr. Van Diest and myself discussed this matter in private. Is everyone agreeable?"

There was some small demur, but it was finally agreed upon. The others went out into the hall, leaving Mr. Torrington and Van Diest alone.

They were both very smiling and scrupulously polite, but the air of the room seemed to crackle with stored electricity. The Dutchman was given a chair by the writing table and cigarettes were placed at his elbow.

Indeed, every social amenity was observed before Hilbert Torrington fired the first round.

"Let us a.s.sume, Van Diest, that we are neither of us honourable men."

Van Diest took quite a long time lighting a cigarette before replying.

"You don't mind if I smoke?"

"It's an admirable sedative for conscience and nerves alike. Wouldn't you prefer a cigar of Barraclough's?"

"Ach! it wa.s.s of this young man I wa.s.s about to speak."

"I had almost guessed it," said Mr. Torrington, and picking up the patience cards began to lay them out in little packs.

"It is said he iss on the road tonight--wa.s.s seen by a man who ha.s.s done some works for me."

"Indeed! That must have surprised you very much. After cherishing the belief that he was snugly accommodated at Laurence's house."

Van Diest acknowledged this thrust gracefully.

"A clever idea thiss subst.i.tute--a nice fellow too--vonderful determination."